Founding Fathers PT 2

Posted on Wed Dec 18th, 2019 @ 4:09pm by Executive Officer Kenneth McTigue & Commanding Officer Mickey Serendipity & Commanding Officer Soto Nabaal

Mission: The Forgotten Arm
Location: Callisto Shipyards, Civilian Sector
Timeline: 5 Years Prior To The Eros Incident

"Ahhh...I see you have a good eye."

Yazick Madranni was a short, squat Earther of Arabic descent by way of the Tehran Shared Economic Zone. His place of business reflected his origins, with carpets layered sometimes three layers tick in places across the metal floor of the shipyard warehouse. Tapestries of intricate woven designs hung from walls and from scaffolds, cutting off the majority of the space and containing some of the heat the icy moon drained out of everything. He walked over to Ken, and with a show mans flourish indicated to the object standing in the centre of the room.

"UNMC Horseman class power armour," he said as he rapped a knuckle against the ceramic and titanium armoured thigh of the giant suit of armour. "Though as many of its critic would say, it has more in common with a combat mech than a true suit of powered armour. The back canted legs, the angled thrust vents for assisted vertical leaps, not to mention first generation of mech portable rail guns for the shoulder mount. These are all things that the later designs would do away with, as UN combat doctrine divided mechanised field artillery away from exo armoured soldiery. This one is, according to the bill of sale, the last of its line before the Horseman class was decommissioned from the UNMC roster."

Yazick shook his head.

"A true classic. Brute force given form, able to accelerate to 70 KPH in a full atmosphere. Faster in lower atmospheric densities, naturally. She was of course designed in the aftermath of the Mars Proclamation when Earth thought it would need to invade its colony to restore order." he tutted reproachfully. He eyed Ken speculatively out of the corner of his eyes, "I believe it's pressure seals are still intact, so if you wanted to we could place it in the back of a crawler and go out on to the surface for a demonstration. A trail if you will, because I do not see anything but the eyes of a true appreciator of this fine piece of mechanised artwork. You have all but bought it with your eyes, I can tell."

"Yaz, stop showing us the things we're not to see," Mickey said from where he can Soto were still being patted down by Yazick's thick-necked body guards. "We're not that good of friends."

"Everyone is a friend you have just not made yet, Mr Serendipity," Yazick said with a smile. He turned his attention back to Ken. "Think about it. Not many of these left out there in the system. To a private collector, as a stand-alone piece of history, she is priceless. To someone willing to pay the extra for the power cell convert, and the aftermarket add on's to make functional, she would be a suitable accompaniment to any endeavour. Think about it. I can be reasonable on pricing, to a fellow collector of militaria."

"I always preferred the Reaver." Ken mused as he studied the Horseman. "The Horseman was an utter piece of shit. The powerplant couldn't feed the rail gun magnets at the same time as its air scrubbers. So half the time the marine in the suit was choking on his own farts." Ken's thumb ran over the chest plate, admiring the thick titanium and ceramic armour. A small smile formed on his lips as memories of his many hours in his own Reaver Mk. 4 suit on patrol, the maintenance, and the friends he had made.

"Got a Mark Four squirreled away around here?" Ken asked with a cheeky grin as he looked around the large hole.

"Not here...no. But I have a short waiting list for a consignment of demobilised Mk2's. It would break my heart to sell them to the unworthy soul, someone who would not appreciate them." Yazick lamented before turning back to Soto and Mickey. He did this in such a way that he passed a data chip to Ken, the sort of thing that barely held enough memory for a comm laser address. "But as you say, to business. Please sit and be welcome in my establishment."

The sitting area was pure Eastern Earther decadence. A low black lacquered table, surrounded by plush foam-filled pillows with a collection of brass carafes and cups set up alongside a selection of sweet pastries.

"So...you want to buy a ship," Yazick said as he settled his bulk down onto the pillows. "Please, do not obfuscate your desires. I am a merchant, your friend here is ex UNMC, and your companion is ex-UN Navy. You travel in interesting company Mr Serendipity. Company that would normally worry an upstanding businessman like myself did I not know your former employer Mr Serendipity. How is the Craftsman these-day?"

"Last I heard still on his roving workshop on Mars. We don't talk much," Mickey said.

"Yes. Yes, he can be a bit taciturn can't he? But given you are breathing...well that speaks volumes," Yazick grinned. "So. You want a ship. A warship, given the two you travel with. And given my catalogue, that would be the Micheal P Murphy. UN Antique from last century. I can sell you better."

He clicked his fingers, a volumetric hologram appeared above the spread of meeting nibbles.

"I have enough hulls and spares from the MCRN shipyard on Callisto that I could reasonably sell you most of a Morrigan class fleet escort. The drive would be a second hand Bush Shipyard model, Rolls Royce Mc34. Not as powerful as the Saracen drive module the Morrigan came with as standard, but those are still the leading Martian navy model," Yazick explained as he picked up a glazed pastry. The stubby, blunt nose of the MCRN escort appeared in the air.

"If you can sell us better, the Murphy must be properly cheap." Ken mused. "But as you pointed out yourself, I'm retired Marines, and my friend is retired Navy. Why would we want a MCRN ship when there is a proper UN-made hull? And even one that you really want to get rid of?"

"Because I appreciate repeat business. Martian designs are newer, and for the most part more reliable. A case of being designed for a task, and not by a committee," Yazick he plopped the pastry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "The Murphy is a one of a kind hull, designed with unique components whose tools and dies have long since been lost to time. She is a pit into which you will pour every credit. Not even my vast resources and connections can find but a handful of true replacement parts for it. And then there is the matter of the curse."

"If the ship is cursed you'd probably want it off your hands all the quicker. And if we survive it we'll be return customers all the same." Ken shrugged. "So what's the real reason you don't want to sell this boat? I don't believe it's because it's a crapshoot of a spaceframe."

"That alone is my own reason," Yazick said rather heatedly. He turned his eyes towards Mickey. "It would be polite to take my offer as it stands. I am not so destitute that I am willing to take any and all coin that comes my way."

"No, but you are acting rather oddly for a fellow who tried to sell me a rockhopper I'd sold you a year before after its own had an accident transporting OPA fuel pellets," Mickey said, sipping his tea. "The Marine has a point, we have money and this much of a story you're laying on there must be a reason you're trying to get us to by Martian instead of full Gee Earther."

Yazick sat in stewing contemplation for a time, chewing angrily on his pastry.

"It is not legitimate salvage," Soto said into the silence. Yazick scowled across the hologram at the Earther. "A prototype like that, regardless of how much of its core systems had been removed, would still be a treasure trove of UNN design philosophy and material science. And given the age of the UNN Fleet, it would still be a concern today."

"You are most perceptive," the shipyard owner growled. "Yes. The ship was sold to me as salvage, but it wasn't until I gained physical possession and had wired the funds that I knew I had bought a cursed ship. Anyone who bought it would have a large neon sign over their heads saying they were running around in a stolen next-gen fleet escort. Even with all of its classified systems removed, there are enough built into it that it would be worth my time cutting it into scrap."

"But you didn't," Mickey said, leaning closer.

"I did not," Yazick sighed. "Because I knew one day someone would pay to take it off my hands. To purchase my white elephant."

"Here we are, with a reasonable offer, and you don't want to get rid of your white elephant." Ken chuckled and walked around the room a little more. "What do you say boss, do we leave and see if anyone else is interested in the Murphy?" he asked Soto.

"How much?" Yazick said. "Though I will add onto it the gratuities I will need to rid myself of any ties to the ship in question. It will be as though it has appeared in your hands as if by an act of magic."

"We can wire 900 million UN Adjusted Dollars via the Ganymede Credit Union," Mickey said dryly, as though discussing the tab at the end of a night of light drinking. "Going rate for the modern hull would be around the same, and we'd be taking it sight-unseen so anything wrong with it would be our problem to fix, not yours. Mark in the depreciation these things take out of the causeway, and everything else is just the extra padding for salving your conscience."

"And maybe you can throw one of the Mark Two Reavers into the cargo hold?" Ken asked, smiling at Yazick. "I'm sure you have one laying around that is just taking up space. Those intergrated gattling guns are just in the way."

Yazick narrowed his eyes at Ken, and took another pastry off of its platter. He chewed it angrily for a moment before swallowing.

"Acceptable," he said grudgingly. "Once the money is transferred I will hand you the mag key, and that shall be it. I do not wish to see that ship again."

He then turned his attention to Ken.

"And you are already on a waiting list. I have other customers you know. I am not so desperate that I desire every last one to leave my company with a favourable impression," the shipyard arms dealer grumbled. "I will ensure word comes to you when I have items that you might wish to bid on. We will see if an ex-UN Marine can outbid a cell of the Black Sky organisation or the Solidad Collective."

Ken grinned and clapped Yazick on the back of the shoulder. "I'm sure I can tender a reasonable offer for one of those beauties. Especially someone who can make it dance like a ballerina, and knows how to get everything out of it."

"Yes, yes I will be sure to recall the merits of your patronage," Yazick grumbled. He looked across at Mickey and Soto. "Wire the funds, and then the ship is yours. Sight unseen, no refunds."

"Agreeable," Soto said stoically. Mickey nodded along.